


softly, sweetly

by houndsace



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: M/M, idk some weird modern au, there's mentions of everyone else here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21700024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndsace/pseuds/houndsace
Summary: cloud has nightmares.leon makes sure he's there.
Relationships: Cloud/Leon (Kingdom Hearts), Squall Leonhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	softly, sweetly

**Author's Note:**

> no beta !  
> i havent written strifehart in YEARS but why not !!!
> 
> come yell at me on twitter @diangelions !

The night always seemed to grow longer and longer, with nightmares. 

There always end in a flurry of dark - shadow that tugs at his wrists and beckons him closer before igniting, turning into flame that licks at his skin, makes his body heave with the coughs as ash fills his lungs and makes him feel like he’s being put into a blanket that’s too thick, threads coming down his throat and asphyxiating him. 

It’s how he wakes up - with his throat too tight and dry, and his body aching, still feeling the sting of scars that have long since faded into near nothing. He doesn’t remember much of the fire - he doesn’t like to.

He shifts, careful not to wake the sleeping body next to him and Cloud pads his way into the living room. The apartment was small - the quilt that Aerith made them two or three Christmases ago laying across what was a cream colored couch, photos of him and Zack at rugby practice, along the lines of Aerith and Tifa at one of their monthly barbeques to get everyone together. A cryptid picture of Vincent in one of Rinoa’s selfies with the two. He wonders where all the time had gone - if it had been sucked into some expanse of time where he’d never see it again, or if it was simply passing that quickly.

His fingers stop at a frame - dark gold around the wood and in it, a picture of him and Squall at the steps of a courthouse, deciding last minute to get married before he was meant to serve in the military. Squall, in his dress blues, and Cloud next to him, similarly dressed in the dark blue suit that Aerith had tailored for him. He still has it, hung up gently, and he remembers the next day was the day that Squall had to leave. 

He came back, but not without scars.

They both had them - both metaphorical and physical but they had made a promise one night, almost ten years ago, that they’d stick by each other no matter. Hands that were clasped tight against the other, foreheads pushed close and legs tangled, it’d been a night in Cloud’s old home when he’d been living with Tifa and her parents, fairy lights the only dim lighting that he had because lamps were too bright and the moments he spent with Squall always felt like they went with a haze of fondness. They made a promise, tangled like that, to be together, and stick by each other, even if the going got tough. Even in nights that were rough, where Leon waited half-asleep for Cloud to get back into the room so he could provide the comfort he had, they had promised.

So his surprise is minimal, when he hears footsteps in the kitchen and a glass of water is pressed into his hands, along with the quilt draped along his shoulders. 

“I remember that day.” Leon murmurs quietly, blinking at it, a yawn threatening to leave his lips. 

“I’d hope.” Light teasing, that gets him a roll of eyes before he finally does yawn, and Cloud frowns, “You should go back to sleep.” 

“Nah.” It’s a simple answer, followed by another stretch and Cloud can see the darker parts of Squall’s skin where he’d gained scars from battle. He resists the urge to run his fingers over them, only watches as the other man pads back into the kitchen, the light being turned so that it was just barely on, easy on their eyes.

Cloud follows him after a moment, watching as Leon pulls out their electric kettle, sets it on and hums softly to himself, some tune that he doesn’t actually remember in full, but one that has become a source of comfort to them both. He wasn’t much of a singer - but Cloud enjoyed it whenever the little hums and vocalizations left the dark haired man’s lips, watching him move around their kitchen with practiced ease that helped Cloud relax just a bit. There were no flames here - and there are times that he remembers the lengths Leon had gone to make sure that the apartment they’d chosen was perfect.

The stove - electric, no gas, not a flame to be seen. An electric kettle. No fireplace. Nothing that could spur bad memories for either of them and it makes Cloud’s chest tighten as he moves, glass of water forgotten on the counter as he pushes his way into Leon’s arms and his face into his chest. His arms wind their way loosely around the man’s torso, and one of Leon’s hands come to rest against his back, gentle strokes against his back.

The same warm palm moves from over his shirt to under, the contact making Cloud relax further into the other, and Leon’s voice is soft, “The fire?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“It’s the same thing.”

“And?” 

“... It’s less vivid, this time. Mostly smoke.. Ash. Felt like I was choking.. Think that’s why I woke up.” His face turns towards Squall’s chest again, buried there like he can escape whatever dark tendrils try to wrap around him, as if the man were not a man, but a knight. He may not be one, not literally, but it was easy to forget the choking feeling that flitted around him before and feel like he can breathe again, that slow easy feeling of Leon’s hand on his back, and he hums again. 

“You wanna go back to bed?”

“Hot chocolate first.” 

“Damn, you saw me pull out the packets already?” He’s already untangling from the other to get everythong put together.

“Sure did. Can’t get anything past me.” 

“Hot chocolate, then bed.” 

“Or, hot chocolate in bed.” 

“Hot chocolate in bed it is.” 

Silence, the sound of hot water being poured from the kettle, the mixing, and then, quietly, “Hey, Squall?” 

“Hmm?”

“Love you.” 

“Love you.” He murmurs, a kiss coming to press against Cloud’s head, and a warm mug in each of his hands.


End file.
